Seeing three rather
shabby-looking fellows standing chatting with their hands in their
pockets, I stopped and inquired in English the name of the place.
"Pen- something," said one of them, who had a red face and a large
carbuncle on his nose, which served to distinguish him from his
companions, who though they had both very rubicund faces had no
carbuncles.
"It seems rather a small place to maintain three public-houses,"
said I; "how do the publicans manage to live?"
"Oh, tolerably well, sir; we get bread and cheese and have a groat
in our pockets. No great reason to complain; have we, neighbours?"
"No! no great reason to complain," said the other two.
"Dear me!" said I; "are you the publicans?"
"We are, sir," said the man with the carbuncle on his nose, "and
shall be each of us glad to treat you to a pint in his own house in
order to welcome you to Shire Car - shan't we, neighbours?"
"Yes, in truth we shall," said the other two.
"By Shire Car," said I, "I suppose you mean Shire Cardigan?"
"Shire Cardigan!" said the man; "no indeed; by Shire Car is meant
Carmarthenshire. Your honour has left beggarly Cardigan some way
behind you. Come, your honour, come and have a pint; this is my
house," said he, pointing to one of the buildings.
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